Of Two Minds
by Xoserena
Summary: Cullen has seen enough horrors to last a lifetime: The Circle, Kirkwall, now the Conclave. In the midst of breaking his ties with the addictive Chantry, he finds himself curious of the Inquisitor. He is torn between his want to put the past behind him and the inability of the past to stay behind. Cullen&f!Magequisitor, both POVs.


Hiya! I have no beta, so I apologize in advance. All credit goes to Bioware. If you like it, leave a review. If you want to rip it apart, leave a review. :)

* * *

I have missed battle so much... so much more than I could have anticipated. In one hand I slice my sword through a demon; in the other, I raise my shield to protect me from a wisp's attack. I perspire profusely due to exertion and the heat that is building up in my helm. Sweat trickles down my forehead and upper brow. I feel a grin surface on my lips and continue dipping and diving. There is nothing I enjoy more than the sound of my shield blocking an attack.

My happiness is bright and bold but short lived. Soon the adrenaline has released me from its grip and I am, once again, without joy. In my days since quitting my lyrium, I have attempted to find enjoyment and exhilaration in nearly every imaginable way, spare get a beautiful woman in bed. Still can't talk to them, like I'm some bumbling, teenage boy. I'm surrounded by them: Cassandra, strong and bold; Leliana, mysterious and pretty; Josephine, regal and generous. Thankfully they have made no advances and neither have I. If any action had been taken, I would have despised myself and probably been chucked from our small army. It'd been years since...

I look to Cassandra to give her a small grin, but instead am met with a set of dark, studious eyes, placed on a pale, oval face. A dark brown fringe falls halfway over her large forehead and she breaks eye contact, using her full lips to pull blow a puff of breath away. Her large eyes shine brightly against the green light of the Breach and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. The prisoner's rounded chin juts in defiance at the sky, as if taunting it to destroy her. It will; she is clearly not suited for the battlefield. In solidarity, these features would have made for an odd looking woman, but it all fits, like pieces of a beautiful puzzle. But... no warrior wears their hair long; it reaches just below her breast, falling in soft curls. I haven't seen a woman's hair style on a woman in so many years, dare I say before I graduated Templar training. Mia always wore her hair down. I drink in the sight of the newcomer before I notice her weapon of choice.

I catch a blaze of ice rush past my face just after I hear the whoosh of more enemies. It must have only been a moment, me looking at her, but it felt like ages. It is getting hard to process these emotions, so I shut them off. I've always enjoyed a fight more than any woman anyway, and I doubt I will change for some petty, pretty prisoner. Maker, she's a criminal! I'd shake my head, but I duck, evading a sweep of talons from a rage demon. It grows more red and I hear a bloodcurdling scream erupt from its mouth; I brace myself, shield erect in one hand, sword poised in the other. As I begin to attack, I am bombarded by a hard hit to my left side. It surprises and winds me, and I watch the demon's talons approach my face once more. I already have a scar, Marker knows I don't need more.

I raise my shield as high as time allows and brace for impact, but it never comes. It's become frozen, its red turned to ice blue. I hope it was Solas that saved me, for I can't fathom having to thank to the most wanted criminal in Thedas. I am a seasoned warrior, former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, sole survivor of the front line Templars of the fallen Ferelden Circle. I did not need her help, or whoever else's. I don't have time to turn and look, but instead fall into the familiar block and swing, block and swing. It is most comforting, almost mind numbingly comforting, and I feel another surge of contentment. It's amazing, but I feel more at ease in battle than I do on my own anymore.

I impale the rage demon with my sword and hear it scream as it disappates into the rift from which it spawns. No sooner than it returns, a bright beam of green light rushes past me and the rift closes with a bang. I follow the new source to its owner: the girl. I mean, the woman. The prisoner.

She looks at me with no emotion whatsoever, as if she is studying me. What does she see? An armored warrior, tall and bloody, who stupidly failed to protect his weak side, his blind spot? I can no longer bear the heat of this helm and take it off, wiping the sweat from my brow. As I look back at her, I realize she isn't staring at me, but at the space where the rift had been. Solas lets go of her wrist and smiles at her. With a soft, calm voice he explaind she had closed it, and she was the best chance of closing the Breach.

"So I can help?" she asks timidly, looking at her hand.

"You must," he replies quickly. "The mark will overcome you. It is your - our - only chance."

She nods and looks down, face pensive as she studies her hand. After a long second, she nods, seemingly to herself. Still lost in thought, the good lady must have forgotten her introductions. If she hasn't a mind to know me, I figure I can do without as well. "Lady Evelyn Trevelyan," Cassandra starts, "this is our commander, Cullen".

Evelyn Trevelyan is the most beautiful woman I've laid my eyes on. Beautiful. Dangerous. Mage.

The prisoner - Evelyn - looks up at me, as if it's a shock I've been here the whole time. She narrows her eyes at me, dark with suspicion. They are so dark it takes me back to Ferelden, where those mages had been possessed by demons with eyes just as dark. Eyes that crinkle as hers do, in malice and hate. They reveled in the evil, horrible tortures they inflicted and their dark eyes had a delightful look about them. This meeting, this woman, these events... they are too much. "That is a horrid name," I say before I can stop and think. It is not like me.

Her eyes narrow even more, if possible. They crinkle at the ends. Then suddenly she's laughing. She's laughing, a boisterous, happy, nothing is wrong, everything is fine, if it isn't fine it's going to be, carefree, laugh. I almost crack a smile just listening to it. The past few weeks with Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine have been stressed, and it is good to hear a genuine laugh. She leans against the staff and smiles - genuinely smiles - at me. Those full lips give way to perfect teeth. Nobility. She's nobility. She is too pretty, too perfect to not be nobility.

"So I've heard," she says. "My parents, beautiful souls, not an ounce of creativity or common sense." She shrugs. I stare - hopefully blankly - at her before some soldiers arrive. I offer my support to one of them, who immediately places his arm around my neck and slumps.

"My men will do what we can. Our forces are limited; you must seal the rifts quickly. We will not last much longer. Good luck." I spin on my heel and take my leave, hoping I never have to see her again. Or hoping I hope I never see her again, anyway. 

* * *

A few hours later, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas arrive… with an unconscious prisoner in tow. I raise a brow skeptically at the returning party, but say nothing. I will keep my reservations to myself. After all, the Breach has closed for now, and at present, I have nothing to complain about. I'm sure that will change shortly, but for now, I focus on the atmosphere in Haven. Happy, joyful… hopeful. The first swell of hope since this all began. I suppose I have the mage, Evelyn, to thank for that. I suppose I will have to thank her, this time. Three days later, I walk towards the cabin and lean against the door frame as some mages gently treat her and write progress notes.

"Gracious accommodations for a prisoner," I say to Cassandra, who is watching a few steps away from me. She looks at me with a quirked eyebrow, omnipresent frown still placed on her lips.

"No longer a prisoner, as far as I am concerned," she says after a moment, her brown eyes returning to the still sleeping mage. "It appears the Revered Mother spoke to her and assisted her through the Fade." Her eyes shine brightly, and if I knew better, I'd say there were tears pooling. No water falls, however, and she continues. "Who knows how they got there. But Divine Justinia sacrificed herself for Lady Trevelyan, therefore she must be of major importance. She has closed the Breach, and that was more we could have hoped for."

"You mean she's stopped it from expanding. It's still there, Cassandra," I reply quickly, always the nay-sayer. "You speak as if she's our only hope."

I see another flash in her eyes, one of warning. "Because she's a mage? Is that what this is about?"

"Maker, no!" I reply, perhaps a little too quickly. "I…" I falter and clear my throat. "I am past my prejudice of mages." I run a hand over my face slowly, attempting to gather my thoughts. Am I over my aversion to mages? Do I find myself trusting them less than others? Or is it that she was a prisoner and is suddenly – miraculously – now a seeming guest of honor? I choose to go with the latter option, but deep down in my lyrium infested heart, I know the truth. I do not trust mages. I have known many, more than any other here, and I have seen their souls. Power eats away at them, festers their souls, corrupts their minds… But they wouldn't understand the depths of my mistrust, and it would be unfair to ask them. "It's because she is the prime suspect of the destruction of the Conclave, unless you've forgotten," I end up saying, taking the easy way out.

"Was, Cullen. No longer. There is something major at play… something we do not know. I can feel it." She looks back to Evelyn and continues speaking. "I do not know what. I cannot even fathom. But it is coming."

"I can tell you what it is."

She looks at me with a blank stare.

"The mages and Templars. The Conclave was an epic failure. I have already heard word of the rebel mages seeking aid from… unsavory places."

She sighs and rubs her jaw, but remains silent. Our eyes are still trained on Trevelyan's form, and once more I observe her features. Still the large forehead… Maker be good, I thought nobles had weeded out that trait eons ago. Her lips are open slightly and I swear I catch a line of drool escaping them. I snort, unable to contain myself. There is a tiredness in her features now, even though she is asleep…

"Are you quite finished?" Cassandra asks. "We have business to attend."

I feel a bit of heat creeping up my neck and rub the back of my head, keeping my eyes to the ground. "I was, um… looking at her hair," I say, following the Seeker out of the cabin.

Cassandra continues on her way up the stairs, shooting a hard stare at Varric, who salutes her. Cheeky dwarf. Sometimes I like him, sometime I don't. He jokes too much and seems to take very little seriously. There are some things that don't have a speck-worth of funny.

We arrive at the Chantry and I rush forward to open the door for the Seeker. She raises an eyebrow as she walks past, and I feel the need to explain myself. "Old habits die hard," I say quickly. I was, after all, raised a gentleman, for however long I was at home. And Mia was always sure to correct me if I faltered in my etiquette. I should write a letter. I open one more door at the end of the chapel, then take my spot at the table.

Leliana enters sullenly, following Josephine who is – by contrast – smiling ear to ear. "This is wonderful news!" she says in that Antivan accent. Her smile slowly falls as she looks around. "What is with the sour faces? The Breach has been closed, by all reports!"

Leliana snorts. "Not by all accounts. The Breach has stabilized. Not closed. You're far too trusting, Josie." She pauses, then gives a rueful smile. "But it is a victory." I study Leliana and what exactly occurred to make her like this. I knew she'd been part of the Blight, one of the warriors who had served next to the now King and Queen of Ferelden… I'd seen a few darkspawn in my day, but by no means did I witness the events she did. Perhaps we were alike. Both quiet and reserved. Though we had different trades, I could respect Leliana's work and was sometimes frightened by the woman. She looked tired, but that hooded look she kept did her no favors.

"A victory indeed," someone returned, a newcomer to the fold. "But not enough, I presume?" I watch as Evelyn Trevelyan appears from the main chamber of the Chantry. We all stand looking blankly at her and her face searches each of ours, falling on mine. "They said I could just come in…?" she started.

"Of course," I say, unconsciously raising a hand to rest on the pommel of my sword.

"You are the reason we're here," Cassandra says gently, a small smirk appearing on her face as she addresses the woman, "Herald of Andraste".

"You're joking!" the mage says as she scoffs.

"How does it feel?" I ask, a smile forming on my face as well.

"Like I should hunt down whoever came up with that and hurt the nutter," she says with a full smile. Maker, she is gorgeous. I try to think about her drooling to keep my thoughts from wondering further. She advances towards the table with a few swings of her hips and leans down to study the map in front of us, her long hair falling over her left shoulder. The dress she's donned does her no favors; it's a nugskin peasant's dress, as we have no royalty in Haven. I'm surprised someone has even found a dress laying around; nearly everyone is outfitted in armor. The pale cream washes her out and makes her look sickly. I think I can handle her without embarrassing myself as long as she wears that hideous outfit. "But shall we get to business?"


End file.
